


Wasteland, Baby!

by thegoodbones



Series: Barca and Pietros [6]
Category: Spar - Fandom, Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodbones/pseuds/thegoodbones
Summary: The world has ended. Pietros and Barca are barely holding it together when a miracle happens.
Relationships: Barca/Pietros, Crixus/Naevia
Series: Barca and Pietros [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/395839
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Spartacus ▶ Barca / Pietros





	Wasteland, Baby!

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hozier's song of the same name.

They both look up when they hear a distant sound, their near constant state of alert heightened even more.

 **Hyper vigilance**. Pietros remembers reading about it in class. He remembers learning that prolonged periods of stress can kill you, that at a sustained high level, cortisol, the stress hormone, could lead to impotence, high blood pressure, and heart failure.

Nowadays dying from stress would be the easy way to go.

It's only been a few years -maybe four?- since the Zombies started appearing, but society has already all but fallen apart, leaving just the facade of civilization. There are still houses, roads, cell signals if you're in the right spot, but the most important things are long gone by now. Laws. Rules. Basic human decency.

“I'm going to go check it out,” Barca whispers, loading his shotgun with some of their precious few bullets, “you wait here.”

Pietros looks at him in shock. “You can't leave me,” he says desperately. Frightened.

He's not a survivor. He's only made it so far because Barca has all but carried him the entire way, watching his back and providing emotional comfort when he lost the will to carry on in this hellish version of reality.

There is no way of telling for sure how things would have turned out if Barca was still deployed overseas when the virus hit, but there's no doubt in Pietros’ mind that he would be dead. Or one of _them_.

Barca crouches down in front of him, the soft smile he reserves only for Pietros in place. “Hey, I'm not leaving you. I'm just going to make sure the parameter wasn't breached, and if it is I'll take care of it and be back before you even miss me. Okay?”

He takes Pietros' chin between his fingers and kisses him softly on the lips. “Wait here and lock the doors. Have your gun ready just in case.”

Pietros wants to point out that there is no situation in which something or someone who gets past Barca could be stopped by him, but he bites his tongue, he's trying to be stronger, not lean so heavily on his fiancee for support. He knows that Barca loves him but there is this constant nagging fear that eventually he will see that Pietros is too much and leave. His therapist would have probably pointed out that this fear stems from being given up for adoption by his parents, but she got eaten by zombies within the first year, so what does she really know.

Barca nods stiffly then gives him another kiss before leaving and closing the door to the manager's office behind him.

They had gotten lucky, seizing control of a large superstore early in the outbreak when it became clear that things weren't getting better. There was a lot of work that needed to be done to completely seal the place off, but once they did secure it, it became a whole lot easier to breathe. This place isn't home, it's supposed to be just a stop on the way to real safety. If that even still exists.

Pietros forces himself to stand and shakily locks the door. He presses his ear to the cool wood and listens. He tries to remind himself that Barca is a trained soldier who has so far been able to handle everything that has been violently thrown their way. He also tries to force himself to believe that Barca can handle anything else that may come. He's been struggling to believe anything nowadays.

There's not much sound coming from the other side of the door. He thinks that he can pick up Barca's soft footsteps moving farther away, but that might just be his imagination. It's quiet for a few more moments then there is a sudden explosion of sound.

Indiscriminate yelling, something crashes, then... laughter? Swallowing nervously, Pietros unlocks and opens the door, padding hesitantly in the direction of the voices. When he gets close he takes a deep breath before swinging around the corner with his gun raised. The sight that greets him is unexpected.

There is a large group of unknown people milling around, the most people he's seen alive in a very long time, and at the centre of them is Barca, standing there with his arm thrown easily around a man's shoulder.

Everybody suddenly turns to look over at Pietros, some raising their own gun, but the man under Barca's arm speaks up quickly. “Everyone calm down! He's friendly." He says with an unexpectedly deep, scratchy voice.

He makes his way over to Pietros and points to the gun with a grin. "You've got the safety on, kid.” Pietros checks the gun, and sure enough the safety is on. He blushes and lowers the weapon. The other raised guns also turn away from him and people begin to spread out, taking instructions from various members of the group.

Pietros doesn't know what to think, this is theirs, and yet Barca seems completely unfazed by the people in their space, some already helping themselves to their food and supplies.

Deep Voice turns to Barca and asks, “It's been years since the world ended and you haven't even taught your boy how to shoot a fucking gun yet?”

Barca gives him a brotherly shove and moves to stand at Pietros' side, gently taking the gun from his still shaking hands. God he hates guns, and Barca knows that.

“Unlike you Crixus, I can take care of me and my mine’s. They don't need to do it all themselves.”

It must be the continuation of an old joke between the two, because Crixus throws his head back and belts out an honest laugh.

"Hey Naevia, come here, I think Barca has something he wants to say!" A dark skinned woman with a large complicated-looking gun strapped around her body and another holstered at her waist looks away from the people she's been giving orders to and rolls her eyes as she walks to stand beside Crixus.

"He says he didn't teach his fiancee here to shoot because he's manly enough for the both of 'em. What do you think that means for us?"

“I think it's more to do with the fact that Barca's a control freak with more muscles than brains," she says with a smirk.

Laughter explodes from all three and Barca pulls Nevia into a tight hug.

Seeing Barca so at ease makes Pietros relax slightly, even if he doesn't get the joke, and he thinks it might be partly at his expense.

“Are you going to introduce us or not?” Nevia demands, shifting her stance easily despite the heavy weaponry.

“Oh, yeah!” Barca says excitedly. It's strange to see him like this, no sign of the grim scowl that has been etched into his face since this mess started. “That asshole there is Crixus, and the beautiful woman at his side is Naevia, his wife. She has bad taste in men but other than that she's pretty great. We all served in the military together.”

Pietros vaguely recognizes the names from stories Barca would tell between tours overseas. “I've heard stories about you two, it’s uh, nice to meet you.” It feels strange to speak casually to someone who isn't Barca after so many months. Social skills require practice.

“We've heard a shit ton about you too, kid. His genius fiancee in medical school blah blah blah. The way Barca talks you'd think you created the world with your bare fucking hands.” Crixus says with a grin.

Pietros casts a look at Barca and blushes.

“He wouldn't create anything this shit,” Barca brags, pulling Pietros into his side with an arm around his shoulders.

“Crixus!” A man barks as he approaches them. “Spartacus wants to have to have the meeting now. Move your ass.”He doesn't wait for a response before stomping away just as quickly as he came.

Crixus growls and mutters something about Germans under his breath. “Come join the meeting,” he says to Barca, “it'll be nice to have someone on my fucking side for a change.”

Barca grins at him. “I'll be right there,” he calls before turning to Pietros with a serious expression. “I'm going to talk with some more people for a minute. Most of these people here are military trained. You'll be safe.”

Safe? Pietros can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to feel truly safe again; but he trusts Barca's words as he always does and nods despite his reservations.

Barca searches his eyes for a moment before leaning in and giving him a deep kiss. It feels like a victory kiss, like he really believes that the war is over just because a group of people with some guns showed up. He pulls back and runs his hand over Pietros' wild curls then turns and follows in Crixus’ direction.

There's a tornado in Pietros’ mind, swirling thoughts moving too fast from him to focus on just one. Before he can even try to pick one out, Naevia comes to his side and takes him by the arm as Barca disappears into the crowd.

“Let me get you filled in, okay?” Pietros nods and smiles hesitantly.

He's still not sure what this all means. Maybe this does somehow signal the end of the war, but he still feels the same crushing anxiety he did before this group came, and it's not helped by the fact that he seems to be alone in the feeling.

Only time can tell.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
